Archive for the ‘The Big Easy’ Category

I’m leaving town tomorrow, taking the LONG drive to California. I’m picking up my mom in Texas and we’ll drive together from there. She’s bringing several books on tape (though I convinced her to not bring the Norah Roberts book because I can’t listen to that with my mohter), I’m bringing chips and trail mix and we’re both going to pretend like these aren’t going to be the longest days in the history of days.

I think I have everything done and packed. Got my oil changed, got a new bumper sticker for my new bumper, packed most of my earthly possessions in case a hurricane decides to hit before I get back and I’ve talked it over with the cat and I’m pretty sure she’s come to terms with my departure.

Now all that’s left to do is actually will myself into the car for 3 days. To bad I can’t apply the gynecologist margarita idea to the road trip. It might fly here in Nawlins, land of the to-go cups at bars (no, I’m neither exaggerating, nor kidding), but I’m guessing I’d better not mess with Texas, or they might make me stay there even longer.

Our cat is a hunter. A mean, ferocious, hunter. About 3 or 4 months ago she was downstairs doing her hunting thing and we heard her make that victorious trip up the stairs (it sounds vaguely reminiscent of a herd of elephants thumping up the stairs). She ran into The Fiance’s room, where we were sitting on the bed playing video games (yea, we’re that kind of dorks), and she dropped her catch and rubbed against us triumphantly. So we prepared to dispose of whatever carcass she brought, only we genuintely couldn’t figure out what it was. It looked a little like a cat turd, or a hair ball, and then eventually, we realized it had arms. And legs. And a tail. It was a lizard. By far the deadest lizard there has ever been (in relaying this story to my sister on the phone she thought I said “bed wizard” instead of dead lizard, which, I think is an ironically good description). It was so dead it hardly even resembled a lizard at all, but I think that about 2 weeks before that point, it was one. Yep, our cat is a hunter.

About 3 days ago, I spotted a lizard right off our front porch. I did my usual run up and try to spook it away so that we didn’t step on it (and because really, I enjoy freaking them out a little), but it didn’t move. The Fiance said it had been there the day before and surely it was dead. We got home a few hours later and the lizard was there, but it had turned 1/4 of a turn to the left. The next morning, it had turned another quarter. And this ridiculously slow movement has continued. Yesterday I caught it in action and saw it’s foot move, so it’s not dead, it’s just moving REALLY REALLY slowly. Our new housemate suggested that we put it out of it’s misery, which I hadn’t even really considered. It doesn’t seem to be in pain, I think it’s just officially adopted the sedentary lifestyle of a true New Orleanian. That’s a lizard I can get behind.

Excuse me while I eat my apple fritter on the couch. The wedding diet doesn’t begin until I leave the state…

One of the cool things we did on my 24th birthday was go to “Rock and Bowl.” It’s an older bowling alley that’s made special by the fact that they have live bands play each night. It’s one of the New Orleans “institutions” that we’d always heard about but never had the occasion (read: the money) to go. They have a country night, a zydeco night, and so on, always a little different. It’s a pretty cool place, the gigantic bar certainly doesn’t hurt. On my birthday we had a reservation for 10pm for a lane, which was great because it was precisely when the band, Bonerama (obviously one of our favorites…), was set to play.

We got there at 9:50, as told and were forced to choke down a 10 buck a piece cover charge. For BONERAMA. Then we went to set up our lane. Well, the place is done by the hour, so we had to wait until 10:10 when she shut the lanes down and we’d be able to bowl at 10:15. Also, we couldn’t get shoes because they were all rented out, so we had to wait. For warm shoes. Warm public shoes. I think I just threw up a little bit thinking about it. But we paid our lane and shoe fees and then waited to bowl.

Our lane was eventually free and we got started. We bowled like 2 frames when the woman 2 lanes over from us came looking for bowling balls…in our ball corral. Really. So I went up to her because I was particularly annoyed by this (and because I had the lightest ball and I didn’t want her to take it) and informed her. The exchange went something like this:

Me: “Excuse me, what are you doing?”
Her: “Looking for a ball (a “duh” was implied in the tone here), we don’t have any”
Me: “Um, yes, but these are our balls”
Her: (with excessive attitude) “What, you brought all your balls from home?”
Me: silence in awe of the amazing attitude and stupidity in light of the fact that there were 8 trillion other bowling balls in the racks behind us but that our corral was the only place she could manage to track down a ball. And I think a mumbled out an “of course we didn’t bring them from home, but that doesn’t mean you can walk up and take them.”

Her daughter then pointed out the huge racks of balls behind us and she went back to spreading absurdity elsewhere.

The highlight of the evening though was my step-dad’s bowling ball. Being that it was the heaviest, it wouldn’t ever make it back into our ball corral thing. It would get all the way there, and then fall and roll all the way back down the alley, so he had to catch it each time, and he often forgot and then there was much standing around and waiting while it CRAWLED back down the chute. And then he was so afraid the woman was going to take it, he held it in his lap until his next turn. It was like he had a pet bowling ball. There are pictures, they are great.

And Bonerama? Surprisingly entertaining and surprisingly was a brass band of relatively older men, not a punk band of 14 year olds who laugh everytime you say their band name.

I have done more eating in the last week than in most of the rest of my natural born life. When anyone’s parents come to town we always get really excited because it means good food that we don’t pay for, which really, is just the best kind of food. Hell, even bad food we don’t pay for is pretty awesome.

Yesterday I went out to a very special brunch with the Fiance (more details to come on that, if I get permission from The Fiance first), which consisted of a Warm Baked Apple in Double Cream (I think I earned myself an angioplasty there), then a wonderful shrimp cajun cocktail, followed with bananas foster, where I think the person doing the flambe-ing almost lost his eyebrows (and I felt the warmth of the flame nearly 10 feet away). It was quite a flame. Then as a mid-afternoon snack, since we’d had a big brunch and were going out to dinner, we had an order of cheese fries (I’m thinking double bypass now, but it was deliciously good). And dinner was a chicken cesear sandwhich with friend onion strings and a piece of cheesecake. I know, I’m just asking for multiple heart surgeries, but it hurts so good.

Now today, we’re going out to brunch again (we’re brunch people, can you tell?) and I can already tell you what I’ll be ordering, because I look forward to this place like a fat kid looks forward to going to a candy store (pretty soon, I might be that fat kid). I’m going to start with Bananas Foster Beignets for my appetizer and then a wonderful wonderful salad for my main course and hopefully more bananas foster for dessert. And then we’re going out to dinner later. And probably to Cafe du Monde for regular Beignets. I think I can hear my arteries clogging as I write this.

I’m telling you, by the time my mom goes home, I’m going to weigh 3000 pounds and you’re going to see a tv special about how they have to lift me off the couch with a forklift. But not to worry, I have a laptop with wireless internet, so I’ll still be here, you won’t miss a beat.

Now go eat something, you know you want to.

I was awakened at 2:45 this morning by what I can only describe as an apocalyptic storm. And no, I’m not even exaggerating one bit. Really, the world may have come to a halt briefly around 3 this morning. Or perhaps it was just the top of my blood pressure reaching the 3000 mark. Whatever it was, I woke up this morning and toyed with the idea of constructing my own ark. Only, you know, without the animals. I’m pretty sure God would frown upon the situation, but frankly, besides my cat, I have no desire to save any animals around here.

The native creatures here include the biggest cockroaches on the face of the earth. They’re roughly the size of my freakishly big foot and oddly, I’m the only person in the house capable to dealing with them. Last night, some unnamed adult male FREAKED out because there was a cockroach in the trashcan (which to me seems like a pretty great place for one). So I went to close it and a tiny little infant cockroach fell on the floor, which I squished and threw it into the garbage bag. No harm, no foul. I had no sooner grabbed the bag when the queen mother of the cockroaches emerged and made a break for my hand. I don’t know much, but I’m pretty sure the cockroach was developing opposable thumbs. And claws. And poisonous fangs. After regaining my composure (and finding a new pair of underwear), I sealed the bag and threw it away, bugs and all.

Another native species we’re currently dealing with are caterpillars. Yes, you heard me right. They’re very cute and fuzzy looking, but they sting like a bee. Not in the metaphorical way either, they literally sting you. It’s sort of confusing. It’s like if Snuggles the fabric softner bear had vampire fangs.

And finally, the last, and perhaps most demeaning native animal is the neighbor’s cat, who comes over to flaunt his thin frame in front of our extra extra wide cat. For the record cat, our cat doesn’t need to see you, she’s not “overweight”, she’s just big boned. And has a large frame. And LOVES cat food. And people food. And bugs. And dust bunnies. And virtually anything small enough to be ingested, and a few things that are too big. Sigh, I’m sure we’ll never figure out her weight problem.

I suppose this is all part of the beauty of the South. And by beauty I mean super pain in the ass-ness.